Kat

For nine days, I’ve slept in a wonderful bed. For nine days, my life’s been more gratifying than it has been in years. For nine days, a routine has been set. Each night, Ryker rides his Harley to the cabin to find me sitting in the living room. Where we spend personal time catching up. Me on the chair, wearing his comfy clothes. Him on the couch, lounging. Since the pantry incident, he hasn’t kissed me. Part of me wishes he would. While the logical section is grateful for the distance. I can tell he’s been slowly trying to build my trust in him and our friendship. It’s risen from the bottom of the barrel. Not much, but enough that I don’t question every motive. My frustration, heartache, and anger that’s woven its way through our sketchy past has settled. Not one hundred percent. Just enough that it doesn’t hurt so much. Actions definitely speak louder than words, and he’s proven that. Our chats are sometimes deep, other times silly, and always rewarding in some way. At least for me. I can’t speak for him. They soothe the broken fragments of my soul, polishing them so the edges don’t feel so jagged. By two a.m., I’m ready for bed. We don’t touch or hug when parting ways. A simple goodnight appeases my mind, while my heart sings a rather melancholic tune to leave him so soon. As much as it shouldn’t, the heart wants what the heart wants, and she’s been a Brent aka Ryker devotee since the beginning of time.

On weekday mornings, our routine stays relatively the same. I wake up late. The girls are fed and ready for school by the time I wander into the kitchen. Twice now I’ve been suckered into pushup duty. Along with Rox and Scarlett. Thankfully, I haven’t missed another ride along since the lip accident that took Kade a whole three minutes to fix. That is, after he scolded me for a good ten minutes on kissing his brother and how much of a horrible idea it was. Can’t say I totally disagree. It’s complicated.

Once the girls are taken to school, Ryker drives me home, sees me inside, then leaves. To be frank, that’s the hardest part of the day. It’s always awkward. He never knows what to say, and we’re both afraid to make eye contact. It’s your high school crush all over again, times a hundred.

During the day hours, if I’m not grocery shopping, Rosie and I platonically Netflix and chill. Isn’t that the hipster term? We do this chillin’ while she spreads her many knives on the floor and polishes them like they’re fine silver. If it’s not TV, it’s book nerd time. I’ve devoured eight novels since we arrived in Texas. Not too shabby if I do say so myself.

In the afternoons, the bus drops the girls off at the driveway. My men come by nightly for dinner. Dad always provides the dessert. This time supplying more than necessary because his pregnant daughter’s a sweets whore. I think the pecan pie episode was an educational experience for him. Rosie, and her badass self, helps me cook. While Kade stares pathetic googly eyes at her. We eat at the table. The men wash the dishes afterward. And we do our typical carrying on until it’s time for the girls to say goodnight. Thus restarting the routine.

I suppose the biggest change has been the weekend. Not to get into major details. No need to bore ya to death. But they’ve been amazing. On Saturday, I slept in, only when I woke up the house was devoid of Roxie. Who decided to go on a morning run through the woods with Ryker before breakfast. Rosie was up watching The Disney Channel with Scarlett when I came into the living room. It took a large glass of water, lots of back pats, Scarlett cuddles, and chocolate to calm my ass down about Rox running through the forest, where there’s killer snakes and possible bad guys. I’m under no illusion that we’re safe here. Sure, it’s been quiet. However, the illusion of silence could be the calm before the storm. I’ve watched enough shows and read enough books to deduct that this ain’t over until Dad and Bear say it’s over. Which they haven’t.

Sometime later, when the sweaty duo decided to grace us with their presence, I had eggs, bacon, buttered toast, and sausage ready to eat. Ryker surprised us all by staying until noon and returning around midnight. Sunday was much the same.

Now … here I am, bouncing my foot anxiously on the floor. Today we’re breaking the routine, and I’m nervous as all get out. The morning went off without a hitch. This afternoon, in thirty-five minutes to be exact, I have my first obstetrician appointment in Red Fort with a new doctor. Ryker set up the appointment and is driving me. Rosie’s staying behind just in case we don’t return before the bus gets home. Did I mention I’m a nervous wreck? What if I hate this woman doctor? I’ve used the same OB/GYN since I was sixteen. Dr. Davies is the best. I’m not a fan of change. This is a huge one. Staying in the cabin feels almost like vacation. Reality hasn’t quite sunk in yet. In thirty-four minutes, it’s going to. I hate this. Hate it so damn much I could punch something—namely Ryker. And I’ve done so well not wanting to do that the past week.

A Harley rumble vibrates the window panes. It cuts off outside, and a minute later the back door opens. This is it. Time to leave.

“Kat, babe, you ready?” Ryker calls, sauntering into the open living space, wearing his cut, jeans, a black long sleeve shirt, and a radiant, dimple kissed smile that reaches his eyes. Someone’s excited about the appointment. That makes one of us.

Gracelessly using the arms of the chair to propel me to my feet, I nod, worried that if I speak, he’ll spot the lie. Too late, Ryker frowns. Meeting me midway between the mudroom and kitchen, he cups my cheeks in those big paws. The intimate touch sparks beneath his fingertips, sprouting gooseflesh down my arms. I shiver.

“You afraid of goin’ to this new baby doc?”

Refusing to meet his gaze, I nod timidly.

“Aww, Tiger. There’s no need for all that.”

Those warm hands fall away and are replaced with a hulking body engulfing mine in a hug. Sighing, I go with the flow, arms curling around his leathery middle. Ryker’s familiar scent soothes my fraying nerves a smidgen as I nuzzle my nose to his chest, finding a semblance of peace. I was calm this morning. Not sure when it changed. Perhaps shortly after he left, the meltdown began. My brain has been running amuck for hours. Rosie quit trying to appease me before lunch. All the leg bouncing was driving her batty. Not that I can blame the woman.

Lips settle on top of my head, hot breath steaming my scalp. More tingles follow. Something pink and mushy swirls in my gut. It’s nothing.

When I don’t reply, Ryker does. “I’d hold ya longer. But we gotta roll.”

Clutching the back of his cut, I rapidly shake my head. Nope. We can skip it. No need to burst this relaxing vacation bubble with real life crap.

A chuckling kiss presses to my hair, that I took time to wash, dry, and style today. For what, I dunno. “No more cold feet, Tiger. Dr. Shipley’s no Dr. Davies, but that doesn’t mean she’s not gonna take good care of you. I wouldn’t take you to her if I thought otherwise.”

Knowing I shouldn’t ask this, I do anyway. Call me a glutton for punishment. “Is she Vanessa’s OB, too?” I mumble to his pecs.

Ryker’s fingertips slip beneath my long trusses to stroke the base of my neck. It’s comforting, and there’s only one reason why he’d pull out these big guns. Daddy didn’t raise no fool. I calmly wait for the truth bomb to detonate.

“Yes.”

He hugs me a little tighter, as if that’ll ease the jarring news. Of course, he’d take me to the same motherfluffin’ doctor as his wife. I should’ve asked sooner so I could prepare, or find somebody else. I’m due in two months. There’s not a whole lot of time to shop around. And since I was forced to quit my job, I no longer have health insurance. Which I’m sure Vanessa does since she’s married to Ryker. As shitty as that may be, that’s the brutal truth I have to live with, day in and day out.

Breaking out of his hold to save face, I tilt my head way back to make eye contact. Ryker reluctantly let's go. I can’t get too far because he keeps one hand planted on my belly to stay connected. I allow the small touch since I’m not in the mood to fight.

“How am I paying for this?”

“I’m paying for it.”

This is ridiculous.

“No. You’re not. Having a baby is expensive. Very expensive. If you hadn’t forced me to quit my job, I could afford it. My copayments were only $25 a visit, and the birth would’ve maxed my deductible for the entire year. A $5000 birth wouldn’t have been horrible. This is going to be much more.”

“No. It won’t.” Fingertips dance across the top of my belly. It’s distracting. Irritated by him, his voice, and this entire scenario, I slap his hand away. He’s not going to snuff out my fire. I’m upset, and he doesn’t get to belittle that.

“Care to elaborate?” I snip.

Those beefy arms do their typical Ryker chest cross. If I were a weaker female, his penetrating regard, and air of dominance would stifle my position. Guess it’s a good thing I can grab a bull by the horns without flinching. Let’s see what ya got, Big Boy. “Ghost already spoke to Dr. Shipley. It’s been handled. Money is not an issue. She’s my daughter, too, and I take care of what’s mine,” he says.

My animated hands get to talking alongside my mouth. “Riiight. I’m gonna skip over the part where I scold you about how well you take care of what’s supposedly yours.”

“That sounds like a smart choice.” He’s not amused. Good. Well, neither am I.

“Thought so. As for the money. I will find out what it cost, Ryker, and I will pay my part. I don’t wanna owe anyone anything when I leave this place.”

Shaking his head like I’m the biggest pain in his ass, which I probably am, he then huffs, nods once, spins on his heel, and stalks out the back door, leaving me in his dust. It doesn’t take long to grab my purse from the table and meet him in the Suburban.

On the ride to Red Fort, a local radio station plays classic hard rock. We don’t utter a single word as I stare out of the passenger side window, watching the scenery drift from green country to small-town America. Before I know it, we’re parking out front of an old, mint green two-story Victorian. There’s a fancy white sign in the yard that reads Dr. Shipley OB/GYN.

Wordlessly, we exit the vehicle, cross the sidewalk, amble up the bush lined path and the four steps to the grandiose double door entrance. There’s a plaque on the wall beside the silver house numbers that declares this property a historical home. Hmm. Am I the only one sort of wigged out by this? Who runs a doctor’s office that specializes in vaginas out of a Victorian manor? Seems odd. Dr. Davies is located in a small office building that he shares with three other lady part doctors. This is a horse of a different color.

Pausing on the porch, I soak in the exquisite wrap-around adorned with white rockers. There’s a pretty pregnant woman occupying the far one. We exchange friendly nods and smiles as Ryker enters the building without me. Asshole.

By the time I join him, he’s already seated in the waiting ro—parlor on a leather wingback, period style chair. Not at all what I’d imagine a doctor’s office should resemble. Where’s the sterile smell in the air? The six-month-old magazines on bland end tables? Aren’t pamphlets on motherhood mandatory in a place like this? The receptionist desk is just that—a true to form desk. Vintage, much like the rest of the period décor. There’s no magazines anywhere. No pamphlets. There’s quiet speakeasy jazz filtering out of some discrete speaker. The walls are a mauvy pink. The floor, original hardwood. There’s a pink, green, and cream colored floral rug in the center.

“Do I need to check in? Fill out any forms?” I whisper, taking the seat beside him.

“Already checked you in,” Ryker replies.

“No forms?”

“When I said you were taken care of, what do you think that entailed? Your medical records were faxed yesterday. She has all she needs to know. Nothing more. Nothing less. We like to keep it that way ‘round here.”

Can I get a … what the fuck? Do I even want to know how they were able to release my medical records without my signature? Probably not. The rest, I’m going to pretend he didn’t say or I’ll hyperventilate.

“Is this legal?”

I dunno what possesses me to blurt it, but this is small town Texas. And we are sitting in a house. Not a doctor’s office. The longer we stay here, the more this screams backwoods physician. The ones you hear horror stories about. Either that, or I’m overly paranoid and need to calm the hell down. I’m praying it’s the latter because I want to trust that this lady isn’t a quack. The least Sir I’m-Ignoring-You-Like-You-Don’t-Exist could do was prepare me for the shock of this place. It’s not every day you visit a medical practice this … um … unique.

Jerk Face puts me on ignore.

The click click click of heels on the floor, along with the sound of two hushed voices carry as the owners of those voices stroll through the house, deep in conversation. They stop by the door. The heavily pregnant woman with bouncing curls hugs the slight woman in heels, who wears a sincere smile. They exchange pleasantries like they’re best friends, and the black-haired, shoe lady sees out the departing guest.

Once the door comes to a gentle close, she turns toward us with an equally genuine smile. “Ryker,” the woman I presume is Dr. Shipley says, coming at him for a hug with open arms. Ryker unexpectedly unfolds from the chair to greet her. They hug long enough that it makes me uncomfortable. Then Dr. Shipley turns her attention to me, offering a well-manicured hand to shake. Apparently, no hugs are in order for the other woman. Ya know, us adulteresses don’t deserve love. We’re a shameful bunch. Nope. This isn’t weird at all…

“You must be Katrina. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Dr. Shipley, or Megan, if you prefer,” she enunciates with southern belle charm.

Climbing out of the comfy chair to come face to face with the pretty, and quite young, doctor, I put on a smile and join her in the formal exchange of niceties. “The pleasure’s all mine,” I lie.

Having appeased Dr. Shipley, she hooks her arm through Ryker’s and leads the way down the hall. I follow like a good little dog, watching the chummy pair chat as if I’m invisible. Who wants to bet fifty bucks that he’s slept with her before? Hell. Let’s make it two hundred. If her perky tit rubs his arm any harder, she’ll burn a hole through his shirt. Why would anyone think this is professional? I should’ve ran far, far away the minute I set foot in this place. But, no, I wanted to give it the benefit of the doubt. My gut was spot on, once again. She rarely steers me wrong.

Trailing them inside the doorway at the end of the hall, we enter a mint green exam room. At least this space resembles an OB/GYN office. There’s a table with stirrups, a portable sonogram machine, two visitor chairs, a sink, and cupboard.

Detaching from Ryker, the doctor washes her hands and slides on a lab coat that has her name stitched on the chest. She gestures toward the exam table and grabs a folder that she begins to flip through. I perch myself on the end, feet dangling.

“This is your third baby?” she asks, reading my file.

“Yes. Third and final.”

“Are you wanting a hospital birth?”

Does anyone really care where you have a baby as long as it’s healthy? I never have.

I shrug. “As long as she comes out safely, it matters little to me where she’s born. Why?”

Making eye contact, Dr. Shipley plucks a strand of black wavy hair off her forehead and tucks it behind her ear. “My practice offers a birthing center right here. Many of the families in town choose to forgo the hospital for a more relaxed birth under my medical supervision. We offer a variety of birthing options to suit patients’ needs. That’s why I was inquiring. It’s perfectly fine with me if you opt to use the hospital. But I wanted to present this as another viable option. I know we’ve just met, and building trust with any doctor is essential. So I want to assure you that my staff and I are happy to talk over whatever it is you need to make this transition into motherhood as smooth as possible.”

Now, this is how I expect a doctor to act. It’s as if her earlier snub no longer exists and I’m her sole focus. I love that she hasn’t addressed Ryker on this matter. Although, I would like to ask him if Vanessa is planning on birthing here. I’ve heard of centers like this before. They just don’t have one where I’m from, or I would’ve probably opted to have Rox and Scarlett there. Hospitals are great. But I love the idea of not feeling like I’m just a number to fill a quota. It’s too systematic and impersonal. You get less than twenty-four hours to recharge after birth before you’re shoved out the door so they can refill your bed. I can’t commit to anything yet, but I do fancy the idea of doing it my way with a doctor present to guide the process.

When I don’t respond in a timely manner, Dr. Shipley approaches the table with a measuring tape. “Don’t worry about it right now, Katrina. I know it’s a lot to mull over. So why don’t I examine you and we can talk about options afterward. How’s that sound?”

Nodding my agreement, I lie back and lift my shirt. She measures my belly to see if I’m on target, which I am. We discuss normal pregnancy woes, and she asks various questions. It’s a typical prenatal visit minus the vaginal exam that’ll take place at my next appointment in two weeks. You know you’re in your final stretch when the appointments get closer and closer together. Not much longer and I’ll be a mother for the third time. How exciting.

Examination complete, Dr. Shipley takes a seat on the rolling stool and folds her hands in her lap. “Do you two have any questions? Thoughts? Concerns?”

Her gaze sweeps from Ryker to me, then resettles firmly on Ryker. The doc’s eyelashes flutter, and she shifts in her chair, squeezing her slender thighs together. It’s no shocker to see women drool in his presence. This isn’t the first time I’ve encountered it, and it won’t be the last. I can vividly remember what it’s like being on the arm of an attractive man when you don’t measure up. Being the average, curvy librarian with lots of junk in the trunk, women glare at you, dying to figure out how you, of all people, snared a hunk. They’d go as far as to brazenly flirt with me present. He never understood it. Most of the time didn’t realize. The man I knew as Brent truly only had eyes for me. That’s what made the constant scrutiny worth it. Though, he was younger then. I’d imagine, given his man-whore status, he’d be used to the come-ons at this point. The bold tattoos certainly add to his appeal. As you know, even I’m not immune to his thrall.

“Ryker?” Doc’s breathy words flutter like tiny butterflies.

Arching a brow, he rakes her attractive form from hair, to tits, to toes, and back again before settling on her face. It’s painful to watch, and way too personal. I should turn away, but can’t seem to make myself.

“Yeah, Doc?” Ryker replies, and she squirms, licking her rose-tinted lips.

“D-d-do you have any questions?” she asks half way to orgasm.

Christ almighty. I wonder if she acts this way when he comes with Vanessa. Bet she’s picturing all the times they’ve fucked and hoping that I’d leave so they could have a steamy repeat right here on this table. Too bad I ain’t leaving so she can fulfill her dirty fantasy. If he wants to dip his stick, he can do it on his own time. Not mine. This is getting out of hand.

Opening my mouth to tell them to kiss my ass, I snap it closed when Ryker’s eyes cut to me, and he smiles one of those rare belly dipping, make me wanna come smiles that are made just for me. It takes my breath away. “My love, you got anythin’ you wanna ask your doc? I think we should do the birthing suite here. I’ve seen ‘em before when I toured the place. They’ve got one with a big enough bed that I can hold you when you deliver our daughter. We didn’t get to do that with Roxie and Scarlett. It’d be nice to this time ‘round.”

Wait. Back the truck up. Hold me when I deliver our kid? My love? Wasn’t this douche checking my doctor out a minute ago? Now he wants to act all sweet and caring. Fuck that.

The doc’s small gasp distracts me from unloading on my ex. “The other two kids Katrina has are also yours?”

Ryker’s smile turns downright diabolical as he leans back in his chair and crosses those arms. “Fuck yeah they are,” he boasts with pride.

“I th-thought you and Vanessa were having a baby, and you stepped out on her.” Confusion steeps Doc’s words.

“Not that it’s any of your business. But I didn’t step out on Vanessa. I stepped out on Kat.” He lifts his chin proudly in my direction, and my goddamn traitorous heart flutters. “That woman you’ve been disrespecting is mine. Do you get what that means, Doc?”

Dr. Shipley’s stunned to silence, hands shaking. That’d make two of us. Holy shit.

He keeps on. “No? Let me spell it out for ya. Vanessa ain’t mine. I’m doin’ right by her because she’s carryin’ my kid after a one-night-stand. We got married ‘cause I thought it was the right thing to do at the time. That’ll be handled soon enough. But lovin’ my old lady ain’t gonna end. So I expect you to apologize to her right the fuck now for treatin’ her like trash and eye fucking me in her presence. I’ve allowed it in front of Vanessa. ‘Cause I don’t give a fuck if you eye the goods. But Kat does. And what makes her upset, makes me wanna commit murder. You don’t wanna be on my bad side, Megan. We might’ve gone to school together back in the day. You’re an attractive woman, but you damn well know my dick ain’t goin’ anywhere near your snatch.” For emphasis, Ryker grabs a handful of his junk. “This. Is. Katrina’s. Ya got me?”

Mouth agape, eyes buggy, Dr. Shipley nods. I’m not fairing much better.

“Good. Now play nice and apologize to my woman,” Ryker demands.

Turning robotically on her stool, Dr. Shipley faces me. There are unshed tears in her eyes. Damn. Ryker sure knows how to give a lashing. “I’m so so sorry.” Sincerity clings to her frazzled words, and I instantly forgive her for all her indiscretions. It’s not entirely her fault that she fell victim to Ryker’s hotness. It happens to the best of us. Plus, I feel horrible for her now. That scolding had to hurt. I know my heart’s walloping in my chest, and I wasn’t the one he was directing his venom at.

“You can do better than that,” Ryker admonishes.

Dr. Shipley trembles violently at his words as a lone tear drops out of the corner of her eye.

“It’s fine, Ryker.” I attempt to smooth over the situation. There’s no need for all this. She gets it.

“No. It’s really not. She knows her place. What town she lives in. Who runs it. And that you don’t ever disrespect a Sacred Sinner’s old lady. Get on your knees, Megan, and apologize properly.”

Dr. Shipley instantly follows his orders and drops to the floor. Unbelievable! “It’ll never happen again, Katrina. That was very unprofessional. Please forgive me.”

“It’s fine. You’re forgiven. Please get off the floor.” I wave her up, but she doesn’t budge. She glances at Ryker for permission. This is… I have no words.

Shaking his head, he stands from the chair. Stepping in front of her, Ryker kicks the step closed on the exam table and settles between my thighs. Big paws rub my belly as he meets my gaze. Part of me itches to slap him across the face for inserting himself here without permission, and for humiliating that poor woman. His ass is in her face right now, and she still hasn’t moved. I’ll be damned if anyone ever treats me that way and gets away with it. Where’s her sense of self-preservation? Her backbone? If I could, I’d offer her part of mine.

“I know that you’re not used to this, babe. But this is a Sacred Sinner’s town. Respect ain’t up for negotiation. You’re mine, and I take that seriously,” Ryker explains.

Rolling my eyes, I cock my head to the side and look him up and down. I dunno who he thinks he is, but you can catch a lot more bees with honey than vinegar. Respect shouldn’t be forced. It’s earned. And I sure as hell don’t approve of forcing a woman to get on her knees to prove a point. Why? To demean her? Some chicks probably drop their panties at the thought of some man going alpha asshole for them. Not me. Do I like that he stood up to her? Yeah. She was acting inappropriately. What I don’t care for is the knocking her not only down a peg, but an entire row. If someone did this to my kid, I’d cut off their balls.

“You take that I’m yours seriously?” I mock.

“You know I do.”

“Uh huh. I know we discussed we weren’t gonna bring the past into this. But where was this attitude three weeks ago? Or a month? A year? Two years? Three? Need I go on?”

Ryker palms the base of my neck and brings our foreheads together. “I told you, babe, I’m tryin’ to make up for lost time. Doin’ what I should’ve done.”

“Then you need to understand one thing.” Reaching between Ryker’s legs, I secure his balls in hand.

Sucking in a sharp breath, he jolts in surprise. “What’re you doin’?”

“Gettin’ my point across.” I squeeze, and Ryker grips the base of my neck harder, expelling a ragged breath.

“Fuck,” he rasps.

“Want it to hurt more?” I test.

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Uh oh. This isn’t going as planned. His dick’s growing.

“No,” I fib. “I want you to realize that bein’ a full-on asshole isn’t gonna make me want you.” Any more than I already do. “What you did to my doctor was unnecessary. You got your point across. Now I’m gettin’ mine. Don’t be a prick, Ryker. Be a good guy. Someone our kids will respect and admire. It’s bad enough you and Kade have already ruined future boyfriends for them.”

“Why’s that?” Ryker playfully nudges my nose with his. Cue the feels. Damn him.

“Do you really think they’re gonna be cool with dating some regular Joe Schmo with an average body, who doesn’t ride a Harley? No. They’re not. All girls dig the bad boys. Only, most don’t have a family full of them.”

“My girls aren’t ever dating. Let’s get that outta the way now. And people don’t disrespect you, Kat. I’m not gonna stand for it. So don’t expect me to apologize for puttin’ Megan in her place. She knows the score. If you were from ‘round here, you would, too. We protect this town in exchange for a little respect. You’ve never been comfortable with chicks eye fucking me in front of you—”

“That never stopped them before,” I interject.

“It is now. If I have any say in the matter.”

“You’re being ridiculous. You can’t admonish every woman who eyes you like a piece of candy she wants to suck.”

“Am I a piece of candy you wanna suck, Tiger?”

Ryker’s hot, minty breath fans over my lips as he rotates his hips, forcing my grip on his balls to disengage. Sensuously sliding his hand from my belly to ass, he grips me there and draws our pelvises together. A yummy hardness brushes my clit through my leggings, sparking a wave of pleasure that travels all the way to my toes, forcing them to flex inside my Chucks. I bite back a moan. Jesus. Why does my ex have to be so good in bed? Couldn’t he be an ugly two pump chump? This is so friggen frustrating. Sexually and otherwise.

Cutting him off at the pass before this gets out of control, I push his shoulders away using both hands. “No, Ryker. I don’t wanna suck you like a piece of candy or a toe, or anything else that people suck. Now give Dr. Shipley her dignity back. We need to leave. Our children will be home soon.”

Yeah me! My tone’s much stronger than I anticipated. If only my vag wasn’t flipping me the bird right now. I’ll be lucky if she forgives me anytime soon. She’s tired of going solo, and so am I. Carpel tunnel’s no laughing matter. If Ryker wasn’t an evil bastard, he’d have a removable shower head in his cabin so I could give my poor fingers a break. The other bathroom doesn’t have a removable one either. Trust me, I checked. Ya know, desperate times call for desperate measures, and once you get a cramp in your wrist, you’ll consider almost anything else to bring you to climax when you’re horny. Don’t worry, I didn’t use a cucumber or hump my pillow. Not that I’m judging you if you use those. Go on with your climaxy self. Ya gotta do, what ya gotta do.

When Ryker still doesn’t budge, I slap his unforgiving pec to garner his attention. He’s too busy trying to grind a hole through my leggings. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yep. I just chose not to listen.”

What a shithead.

“Rykerrrr,” I drone, delivering another pec slap. “Stop. Please.”

Grumbling under his breath, Ryker nods once with an adorable frown, then turns around. “You may see yourself out, Megan. Please don’t do this shit again.”

“I won’t. I won’t. I promise.” She stumbles to her feet. Ryker grips her elbow to keep her steady. At least he’s decent enough to do that.

“See you in two weeks,” he calls to her back as she fast walks to the door.

Doc raises a parting hand. “Yes. Two weeks. Have a nice day, you two.”

“Bye,” I return.

“Later,” Ryker adds.

Once she’s out of earshot, I point at Ryker like an insolent child and bang my dangling heels on the side of the exam table. “The step. Please. I can’t get down without it, or I might fall.” Counterbalancing weight when you’re pregnant isn’t always successful. I’ve had my fair share of almost accidents.

Grinning wickedly, Ryker hooks an arm under my legs as the other supports my back. With no effort at all he helps me safely to the floor. I pretend to make a fuss by slapping his chest, when, on the inside, I’m kind of flattered, and slightly turned on. Not from the lift. From the sinister things he was trying to do to my little man in a boat.

Taking charge, I waddle to the doorway and pause when I don’t hear him follow. “Ya coming?” I ask, peeking over my shoulder to find my ex readjusting his bulge as he shamelessly ogles my ass. Because I can’t help myself, I shake it a little and he groans, palming that stunning piece of meat.

“Stop it, Kat. Unless you want me to bend you over right there and take you from behind,” he warns unconvincingly.

The pussycat loves that idea. While I, well, love it, too, it can’t happen. Not sure why at this moment. The line between right and wrong tends to blur in his presence. Doesn’t mean I can’t have my fun, though.

“Stop what?” I play coy and continue working my booty.

There’s not a lot of things I’m great at in this world, but workin’ dat ass is my specialty. The girls and I don’t have dance competitions in our pajamas for nothing. How do you think Scarlett learned to twerk? Not my finest mothering moment. Yet, fun, nonetheless.

“What the fuck did I just say, woman? Stop. You don’t want me puttin’ chicks in their place. You don’t want me to rub up on that pussy. If you expect me to respect this mile-long list of shit you don’t want, then ya gotta give a man a break and stop lookin’ so fuckin’ sexy all the damn time. You’re givin’ me blue balls,” Ryker pleads. It’s endearing, cheek pinch-worthy, and makes the kitty cat purr for some of Daddy’s cream. Hot diggity damn. I need a Ryker reprieve. My brain’s on the verge of turning to wanton mush.

Heeding the man’s request to save both ourselves from a potentially foolish no pants situation, I haul ass, turtle style, out of the room toward the exit. Waving to the receptionist, I yank open a huge front door and see myself outside. Waiting for my driver on the porch, I admire the well-maintained foliage, and that’s when I see the tall, muscular man standing on the opposite side of the road staring straight at me. The guy’s not just any man. He’s wearing a motorcycle vest similar to Ryker’s, yet not from the same club. Panicking, I spin right around to run back inside, not realizing Ryker’s stepping over the threshold when I do. Unsure of what the hell’s about to go down, I wrap my arms around his middle and drive him back into the building.

“Whoa. Hey. What’s goin’ on?” Ryker peels me off him, and I frantically kick the door shut behind me. Which should give us minimum protection if the stalker unloads a clip.

“There’s a big man outside,” I blurt, hands shaking as a heady mix of adrenaline is dumped into my system. I knew this was the calm before the storm. It was just a matter of time.

“What?!” Ryker growls, going for the door like some fool with a hero complex.

I grab his arm to stop him. “Don’t.”

Ryker halts, gripping the knob so tight his knuckles turn white. “Let go and let me handle this, Kat. I should’ve anticipated this would happen.”

This is why I need a gun. For backup. I hate the idea of him going out there alone.

Knowing I need to trust him, I release Ryker’s arm, still worried sick about what may happen. “You better not die, or I’ll be really pissed.”

Chuckling fondly, Ryker snatches my hand and draws me toward him. An arm wraps around my shoulders, and he drops a peck to my upturned forehead. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I can’t die yet ‘cause I still gotta put a ring on that finger.”

Wait … what?

Shocked to my marrow, my thoughts whirl on a turnstile of complex emotions as another kiss is given before Ryker goes to handle business, taking my lassoed heart with him. This isn’t good. Not at all. First, his declaration of love, the move, the cabin, then the quality time spent together, flirting, family time, and now this… What am I going to do? These feelings are growing stronger by the day. That’s not a good sign.